


The Boundary of a Door

by Jamesbson



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: America in the 60s-70s, Angst, Cellist Victor Nikiforov, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Memories, Moonlight, Music Academy, Mutual Pining, Mystery, POV Second Person, POV Victor Nikiforov, Past Relationship(s), Pianist Katsuki Yuuri, Time Skips, Victuuri in the 60s, Victuuri in the 70s, Wealth, claire de lune, classmates - Freeform, dark academia aesthetic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23362732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamesbson/pseuds/Jamesbson
Summary: Mr. Nikiforov once had a love he did not think could travel farther than the lengths of an ivory key. Facing the reality of America in the 60's, two young men strive for their aspirations. A story of childhood friends, neighbors, and the love swelling ten feet apart from their homes.
Relationships: Victuuri - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I am James and this is my first story ! follow me on tumblr @jamesbson  
> I hope you all enjoy reading, I am very excited to share it.

_Gloucester, MA 1979_

It started with a drive on a rainy Sunday. The type of sleepy day where one could become a little nostalgic, a little evocative on the silly reminiscences of life. A Mr. Victor Nikiforov had told his assistant that he needed to visit his mother, who was currently in a rest home, then promptly got in his newest Ford model and sped off before she could even question him. His lies further included, in no particular order, that his dear mother was ill, she was lonely, and Mr. Nikiforov himself could use the company. All statements were untrue seeing that Mrs. Nikiforov had passed away eight years ago, and between the parties, gambling, dancers, and brandy..well.. Mr. Nikiforov was hardly one to complain for a lack of company.  
His true intentions of mindlessly driving the streets was to escape the workload waiting for him back at his estate. But as the rain thickened on his helpless windshield, he began to regret such choices. Having now lived in New England for years now, he cursed himself for not knowing better. The weather always wild and unforgiving. And after fifteen minutes questioning if he was on the right side of the road, Mr. Nikiforov decided to pull over. The storm was livid and he had no business trying to fight it- he would just have to wait till it lightened up. To make matters worse, he found while digging through his pocket, that he was fresh out of cigarettes and stranded in the middle of nowhere. Checking the watch hanging low on its chain, the man sighed and ran his hands through his hair. 

It was almost four o’clock, giving him about two or so more hours of daylight. His prayers at the moment were for no police to show up questioning why this Russian man was pulled over in the middle of nowhere. In 1979, that would not go over easy with an American officer.  
Victor was a shadow of a man. He ran his business, partied in his shadow estate with his shadow friends, shadow women and men much like himself, and rested on his shadow money. Rumors were perfume and fire with him. Always catching, exploding, and meaning nothing at all. Everything about him from an outsider’s eyes was a mystery. Yet, Victor did not see himself as a mysterious man. He wasn’t. He was a man from a foreign country. A lover of classical music, literature, and avoiding his work.  
Victor had a hefty wealth from his prodigal performances and investments in conservatories throughout Russia, his home country, America and Vienna. He kept quiet about his background and let his accent and any trace of his past melt away with the fear of an American thinking he was a spy. After living there for over ten years now he knew better. He was a musician and a businessman, and although he had an impressive ability to overhear conversations dangerously well, the man was far too clumsy and talkative to ever be a spy. 

Now it was past the hour when the monster storm, relaxed into a guilty drizzle, lighting up the sky, leaving lakes of puddles in the dirt road. His current fears dissipated, a tea bag in water, and he started his engine and headed home. A moment passed like a baton, and Victor was now back in his office, filing through paperwork, trying to warm his cold body by his fireplace. The rain had found itself back at its violent pace against his window pane.  
It made the pale yellow house across the street appear more dismal and forgotten than it already was. Yuuri’s house. 

Well, Yuuri’s _old_ house. 

The man began to remember, a very dangerous thing to do, what the house had looked like before. Yuuri’s garden, and his white blossom tree in the front. The “temporary cottage” that lasted a lifetime. The house used to have a way of making Victor feel reprehensible. It still did. The house, so small and quaint. Perfect for a singular being.  
It made Victor too conscious of all his space. All his empty space, with grandeur, and balconies facing the water, marble and rooms upon rooms, upon rooms, connected by velted stairs and stained windows. The front of the villa, facing the ocean, unforgiving and mighty, against the waves that crashed on the cliff, the back of the house hidden away from the world. Victor’s staff had always found it strange that out of any of the rooms in the house, the million dollar views, the glamour of each section, Victor chose to have both his office and his bedroom in the back of the home. His only view being the front of his neighbor’s house. 

And of course with a mystery comes a rumor. 

Some of his maids said it was because the secluded rooms were where he would take his lovers. Where he would whisk away many women, and to some theorist, men as well, after a night of celebration. People at his parties also said it was because the rooms in the back were the hardest to get to. Others simply said it was because Victor liked to look at his neighbor’s gardens. And that the two used to quarrel about what flowers were in season. A few even went to question that maybe it’s because Victor possibly had a different connection with the man that had lived in the bright cottage next door. They were enemies, rivals, friends, co-workers, star crossed lovers, simply neighbors. No one knew the exact truth. But then…. no one had to anymore. 

The one thing everyone knew was that the man in the house across the street had moved out a few years back, and it hadn’t been touched since.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking it back to the start

There are memories one doesn’t forget. Moments the glassy haze of time can’t touch. Visions that become plastered to who we are... and what we will become. 

Victor Nikiforov remembers the exact day he learned of Katsuki Yuuri.

_Gloucester, MA 1965_

One would think it hard to recollect memories from when you are eleven years old, and your mind is only jumbled with blue dreams and the desire to be a year older, but Victor remembers. It was a Friday. Victor had always loved Fridays.

And that said Friday was the concert for the new students that just entered the private conservatory. Victor was not keen on attending this certain recital. It was for children, the eleven year old first years, not twelve year old _second years_ , such as himself.  
The concert was predictable. There were a handful of impressive vocalists, and a few cellists whom Victor thought weren’t bad. It was everything he expected….until it wasn’t. A boy far too small to be on that stage, walked towards the piano, looking at the audience as if they were wolves. His petite figure politely adjusting the bench, hands shaking. And why Victor felt such empathy for the nervous boy, he didn’t understand. Probably because he was just so small. He could even hear some of the upperclassmen gushing and cooing as the boy fixed his glasses. 

But when he started playing … when he started playing-

It was one of Beethoven’s Pathetique movements. He’d heard it before. A “pathetic” notion, an indulgence in the art of pity. And Victor could _feel_ the boy’s commiseration. His sadness. Like each beautiful note he played he felt terribly guilty for.  
Victor’s little head felt far too small to cope with the despair. It was an expression of music overflowing with such despondency, a sadness Victor didn’t know anyone but himself had held so much of. The music made him miss home, miss Russia, and his parents, his language, his oddness. Why was his face burning? Why did his face feel weighted? The skin of his neck felt like it had caught fire so much, Victor put his hand there to check. And when Victor was eleven years old he decided to give a name to this feeling. This swell of emotion overwhelmed him, the ache in his chest. 

Hate.

The feeling felt dirty in his mouth, and in some part of Victor’s mind he knew it wasn’t right but then again, what else could it have been? Who was this kid? Playing the last note with sleepy eyes, and relaxed shoulders, giving the last notes so much care with such a pained face. Bowing shyly at the massive applause and scattering the stage like he had failed. But he hadn’t. His bow was almost insulting, acting like he wasn’t grateful for the applause, like he didn’t care that Victor was crying, scanning the program for a name. Like he was better than everyone else. 

Katsuki, Yuuri…..first year.

What Victor didn’t realize at the time, was just how much exposure to that name he would really get. Katsuki’s performance was an atom bomb, and after that he became, much like Victor himself, somewhat of a celebrity at the school. While Victor was known for his flare, fire and fun, the life of a hallway rondevu or the jest during a lecture, Katsuki was the other side of the coin. Katsuki was a mystery, not only to Victor but to all the underclassmen. He was quiet and mysterious, wickedly talented and only ever found slumped over a piano. The two only had one theory class together but Victor never once spoke to him. He hated how soft Katsuki’s voice was when he answered questions. Or how Katsuki would say such brilliant things in such an unsure voice. And Victor would get so annoyed whenever their teacher would say Katsuki’s first name. It was Yuuri, not Youri. He thought about what Yuuri’s name would sound like in his mouth. What his name might sound like in Victor’s mouth. It made his head hurt. 

There was one snowy day, during his third year in February when Victor and a group of his friends saw Katsuki slip on ice and fall to his knees. Being thirteen, most of the boys laughed. Victor remained silent. Immediately Victor’s friend Chris, always charming, hurried over to the boy and helped him pick up his music. His friends followed Chris. Victor didn’t move.  
Chris had his arm on Yuuri’s shoulder holding him steady. From the distance Victor was standing at he couldn’t tell what they were saying. Something about seeing Chris and Yuuri talking so close brought back that horrible feeling in his throat. He could see some of the boys, still smiling, wiping snow off Katsuki’s uniform. Victor walked away pretending like he couldn’t hear Chris calling his name. He wondered if Katsuki was watching him leave. He was.

And on a purple summer evening in August, a week before the start of Victor’s fourth year, Victor’s fate rooted in a new direction. The young teen was laying on a velvet sofa in the parlor letting the cool air of the window play with his hair. It had been getting so long, almost down his whole back. His cello was resting in the corner, waiting for him to practice and a record player near the couch spun one of his mother’s old albums. He could hear his father’s steps approaching the parlor until the older man entered the room, a basket of wine in hand. 

“Vitya, go bring this to the new neighbor’s, they moved in this morning.” He said, gesturing the basket.  
“What house?” Victor replied, propping up on his elbow in interest.  
“The little yellow house across the street” Mr. Nikiforov, strode to the window, “It’s a bit of a dump, whoever is in it must’ve gotten it cheap.”  
Victor took the basket from his hands and was out of the house before his father could blink. Victor loved meeting new people. With more confidence than really any fourteen year old should have he walked up to the shabby front door of the yellow house and knocked three times. While he stood waiting he noticed the cracks in the pathway, the dead grass in the yard. There was only a bike in the driveway. They were probably poor. The handle to the door began to turn and the door opened revealing one Katsuki Yuuri and a pair of large brown eyes, no glasses to cover them. 

He said nothing but made a questioning face, and Victor answered, ever so swavley with, “Um...h-hey.”  
They stood there, two pairs of eyes both at each other’s shoes for what felt like forever.

“My father wanted to bring you and your family this basket. A welcoming gift” Victor said, gesturing to his home, “We live.. Um.. right there in that house.” Yuuri’s eyes grew wide as he took in the villa in front of him. And that is when Katsuki Yuuri said his very first words to Victor Nikiforov, his eyes on the house, Victor’s eyes on him. 

“Groovy.” 

Victor noticed his accent immediately, so strong it was almost endearing. _Almost_. Yuuri’s face was a lot redder now as he took the basket from Victor. Yuuri smiled gently, replying, “T-thank you Victor.” Victor was the one with a red face now.

Victor. _Victor._

Katsuki knew his name. Katsuki _said_ his name. He wanted to hear it again. 

“Is any of your family home Katsuki? I’d love to introduce myself.” He said, trying to get a look inside the house. The boy looked down and then to Victor’s house again then back to Victor. “Oh..um..actually I live alone.” he replied. “My family is still in Japan but I’m here to study music...I lived in the dorms for a while...but I moved here once I could.” Victor could sense the boy's sadness. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like. To be so alone. So young. His thoughts were interrupted by his new neighbor’s sweet voice speaking again, “Also...you can c-call me just Yuuri…I know that people do things w-weird here.” 

And for a cosmic moment, Victor smiled at him and nodded. “Okay, if you need anything I’m just across the street....Yuuri.” They gave a gentle handshake, laughed at the awkwardness and returned both into the depths of their homes.  
That night Victor tossed and turned thinking about how he gave a thirteen year old a basket of Russian wine and cheese. It made him feel so embarrassed. He wished he had given him Russian candy or something not totally incredibly lame. He couldn’t stop thinking about his new neighbor, alone, in that little home. He almost felt guilty. Bad. Victor couldn’t stand Katsuki Yuuri. But just Yuuri was a sweet thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you enjoyed this update! Also please feel free to leave comments/kudos if you like the story! They're such great motivators! Stay healthy everyone!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri spend a day becoming friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! James here! This chapter is on the shorter side, but I wanted to put it out there! Also thank you so much for the support you guys are the best.

_1969 Gloucester, MA_

When Victor started school after becoming neighbors with Yuuri, he didn’t quite know what to expect. The idea of becoming “best friends” made him strangely weezy, and he didn’t expect to go back to the way it was before. 

But it did. Except worse.

Because now when Victor saw him, he couldn’t ignore the boy. He couldn’t freeze over Yuuri’s soft gaze, couldn’t act like his head didn’t go fuzzy. Instead when he saw Yuuri, he clammed up. On those rare beautiful opportunities to pass Yuuri in the hallway, he would feel his pale cheeks rose up and his lips numb. It was mid-December and they had not spoken since that evening in August. It was slowly driving Victor mad.

Before they were neighbors Victor spent his school day thinking about Yuuri. What class was he in? What ensemble’s did he do? What composers did he hate? But now it didn’t go away when he went home. Yuuri was still in his thoughts. Or maybe even more so. He couldn’t escape him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about what Yuuri Katsuki was doing, but he _did_.   
Victor wondered about what Yuuri looked like when he was eating, or what his laugh must’ve sounded like. He wondered if Yuuri liked to sleep in or get up early. Did he prefer sunrise or sunset? When Victor walked the beach he wondered if Yuuri had walked this same path yet, or if Yuuri liked the ocean at all.   
There were lucky days where he would catch Yuuri fixing up the front of his lawn or hopping on his bike, riding farther and farther away from Victor. He thought maybe now there would be less mystery surrounding the boy, but it was all so, _so_ much worse. 

Victor did, however, owe a lot to his friend Chris. Chris and Yuuri had classes together, and on a Saturday in Autumn, upon hearing that Yuuri lived just next door, Chris got up from Victor’s bed and began to run to the boy’s house before Victor could catch up with him. 

“He’s not gonna answer!” Victor helplessly called after his friend, but Chris was already knocking at the door, and Victor’s heart was in his throat. 

The door slowly opened, much like it had in August, and a sleepy looking Yuuri, bed head and all, appeared from behind the door. “Chris? What are you-” 

And instantly when the boy’s eyes locked with Victor’s, he began to fix his hair and ditched the blanket that had been around his shoulders. 

“Victor and I wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out with us?”

Both Victor and Yuuri shared a face of horror.   
“S-sure....would you like to, um, come inside?” 

Chris exposed a white smile and stepped in grabbing Victor’s arm, “We would love to.” 

And just like that Victor was inside Yuuri’s home. The interior of the house was cozy but very neat, a small kitchen table with two chairs on the left side of the home, and a room filled with one large grand piano on the right. He could see that there was another room in the back. It must’ve been Yuuri’s bedroom. Victor could see Yuuri’s uniform on an ironing board in the piano room, and a small tea kettle began to whistle while a record player on Yuuri’s windowsill played a Ravel ballet. The house was glowing with natural lights and lots of plants, the walls a freshly shaded peach, and the basket Victor gave him now holding piano music in the corner. It was so...so….

_cute_

Yuuri disappeared into his room for a minute and came back in a blue long sleeve with dark navy corduroy pants. Victor knew he liked the way the jeans were tight around Yuuri’s waist, it was so different from the horrible black shorts of his uniform. Victor couldn’t pull his eyes from Yuuri as he moved around the kitchen, shutting off the stove, putting the record away. Yuuri moved like he was made of music. 

The three boys spent the afternoon raking the amber leaves off Yuuri’s lawn, then biking into town, Victor and Chris on one bike, Yuuri on his own. All in teenage fashion they continued by stealing candy from Mr. C’s shop and skipping stones by the lake with their rations till evening rolled in. 

Victor fiddled with the wrapper of his chocolate listening to Yuuri’s laugh. Yuuri was so sweet. And as Victor and Chris pulled off his quiet wraps and layers, they exposed themselves to the wonder of the pianist. Victor learned Yuuri had an older sister, Mari, who ran away from home when she was twenty, he learned Yuuri _loved_ dogs, promptly stopping and petting every last one he saw tied to a post. Yuuri was great at skipping stones, as he grew up in a hot spring near the ocean. 

But Victor was beginning to learn things beyond the flimsy affairs of new friendship too. Yuuri was funny. Like, so funny he didn’t even know he was funny. When Mr. C. caught them leaving his shop Yuuri looked to him with wide eyes, stuck the candy in his mouth and sprinted. Or when some highschool girls waved at the boys and Yuuri, too indulged in a rant about his Shostakovich opinions, was completely oblivious to the flirting. That one got Victor good. He made Victor laugh in a way he’d never felt before. A euphoria hugging his body and tears pricking at his eyes from laughter.   
He also learned that Yuuri was _such_ a nerd. Possibly the dorkiest, most beautiful, music history obsessed geek. He couldn’t fight the smile tugging at his lips when he thought of the quiet mysterious heartthrob of the conservatory. That same heartthrob, now kicking in the water with Chris while singing an ancient Gregorian chant.   
When the first few stars began to show, Chris very abruptly said he was tired, patted Victor’s shoulder and hopped on his bike. Victor complained that he didn’t wanna walk home, so naturally Chris said, 

“Ride with Yuuri, you guys are going to the same place!”

The two looked at eachother. Then at the grass. And soon Victor was on the back of Yuuri’s bike as he rode the two home. He was trying his best not to touch him. He knew if he did it would burn. Victor could feel the cool air of the fall creeping through his sweater. The crunch of the tires on the leaves. The goosebumps on their skin. 

“Yuuri, Today was a lot of fun.” Victor said so quietly he wasn’t sure if Yuuri heard him. By the way Yuuri continued to ride and not say a word, he hadn’t. A few mins later, Yuuri rode up into his driveway. 

“Hey Victor look at the moon.” he whispered, making Victor aware of how close their faces were.

The moon glowing, big and beautiful. Like cheese. Over their houses. Pulling the waves of the ocean. Victor knew he should be looking at the moon, but he couldn’t stop looking at Yuuri’s face dressed in moonlight. “I always think of Claire de Lune...the Debussy piece,” Yuuri said with a smile. “It’s popular for good reason,” Victor said, returning the grin. Yuuri’s eyes were mischievous. “Want me to play it for you?” 

Victor stared at him to make sure he was hearing right, but when Yuuri welcomed him back into his home and started looking through his music he knew he had heard right. Once he found an old book with Japanese writing on it, and put it on the piano, he patted the spot on the bench next to him and smiled. “Come turn pages for me.” 

The lump in Victor’s throat was back. 

Never in Victor’s life had he had so much trouble turning pages. But how could he not have? Their legs touching, close on the piano bench, all the lights in the house off, and moonlight pooling through the window. Moonlight on the music, and Yuuri’s hands, his graceful, dainty hands. Moonlight on his face, his dark lashes, moonlight on Victor. Victor knew this feeling was beyond friendship, perhaps he was jealous of Yuuri. He didn’t know. He couldn’t focus, which seemed to be a recurring theme with his new neighbor. All he knew was he didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want the song to end. He wanted to turn pages for Yuuri forever. To lean up so close, their lips inches apart and flip a page and retract like a wave.   
When Yuuri finished neither of them moved. Their noses, practically touching. 

“I should go,” Victor said, his breath feeling too heavy.   
Yuuri simply nodded, his dark hair rubbing slightly against Victor’s. Victor left with a contrite smile and began to head home. He wished they hadn’t smiled and said goodbye. He didn’t want them to wash over that moment. He wished he had left in silence so they both could remember that it happened.   
That night Victor spent an hour looking for his mother’s Debussy record, and fell asleep listening to what he wished was Yuuri playing. He wouldn’t ever forget this night. Even if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to add some kudos and comments if you enjoy! All your comments so far really mean the world to me!


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